


i just wake up with a smile by you

by soulbreak



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Hair, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Pre-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Top Steve Rogers, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-02-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:41:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22607956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soulbreak/pseuds/soulbreak
Summary: Everything about him is soft, now: his lips, his relaxed face, his hair brushing against your fingers.(Or: Steve visits Bucky in Wakanda.)
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 6
Kudos: 78





	i just wake up with a smile by you

**Author's Note:**

> title from smile by portugal. the man
> 
> not beta'd, any mistakes are my own

You have some time off in Wakanda before your next mission with Sam and Nat, so of course you’re visiting Bucky. He greets you without disguising his enthusiasm, beautiful grin so bright against the tanned skin of his face, as you arrive at his farm. The two of you have no real need to catch each other up, what with your mostly-regular Skype calls, but it’s good to talk without restraint, to be able to listen to him chatter on about his life, a far cry from 1930s Brooklyn but familiar nonetheless, the soothing tones of his voice washing over you as you take him in.

You end up sitting outside in the grass together, settling into a peaceful silence. He slumps against you until somehow, his head ends up in your lap with your hand in his long hair. You run your fingers through it idly, feeling pleasantly loose as you watch his eyes drift closed in the heat of the Wakandan sun, his lips parted, pressing softly against your thigh in your cotton pants. Everything about him is soft, now: his lips, his relaxed face, his hair brushing against your fingers. You take a moment to send sincere thanks to whatever higher power might be out there, whatever G-d or pantheon or force of nature is allowing you to have this, to feel his gentle breath against your leg as you carefully pick apart a stray tangle in his hair, carefully not allowing yourself to run your hands over his cheeks, his beard, not allowing yourself to bend down and press your lips to his, because that’s something you haven’t talked about yet and you don’t want to break this fragile moment for the life of you.

He makes a small noise of protest as you realize your hand has stilled in his hair. You take a deep breath and begin your movement again; his hair is so fragile against your skin, so tender, and you contemplate this, the power you have now, his head in your lap, so sweet, so trusting; he is so used to pain, so used to hurting, and yet he trusts you with this – trusts you enough to arch back into your lap, baring the pale skin of his throat as he pushes his head into your hand like a cat, and it’s everything, too much and too little, the whole world wrapped up into this moment as you stroke his hair, as he huffs little moans, his mouth curved into the hint of a pleased smile, all his muscles relaxing into your lap.

“What’d I ever do to deserve you?” he murmurs dreamily. You feel his lips move, warm against your skin, as he says it; you shiver with the weight of it. 

“Don’t be stupid, Buck,” you say, voice hoarse and cracking, barely audible to anyone without your – and his – enhanced hearing. “It doesn’t suit you.”

The ghost of a laugh. He opens his eyes, just a crack, and looks up at you, and you look at him: his face still pressed into your thigh, neck curved over your knee; he looks beautiful, and your breath catches, your hand stilling at the nape of his neck.

“Don’t stop now, Steve,” he whispers, a broken, gutted sound. “Please. Don’t stop now.”

“You know, someone else hearing that would think we were fucking,” you joke. It’s not really a joke, but you hope you can pass it off as one; it falls flat anyways.

“Yeah?” he drawls. “What would be wrong with that?”

You hiss out a breath; you don’t have an answer to that, nor would you be able to give him one through the sudden tension in your throat. He rises halfway, hair falling in a curtain to frame his face as he leans his chest against your thigh. His head is bowed slightly; you can see the shadow his eyelashes make on his cheeks, the slight divots in his lips where the skin is chapped and bitten. He looks up through his lashes at you.

“We used to, didn’t we,” he says. It’s not a question. You nod anyways, still unable to speak through the wanting filling your body. The two of you breathe together for a few moments, the silence thick in the air, each one waiting for the other to break it.

And without really thinking about it, your hand is on his chin, tilting his face up to face yours. He stops breathing for a second, you think, or maybe it’s you; you can’t seem to get quite enough air in your lungs, and for a wild half-second you think maybe the serum is failing and you’re having an asthma attack again, and then the moment passes and your face is so close to his, close enough that you’re sharing the same breaths, and then your lips are touching, you’re full of him, licking into his mouth as he moans; he’s climbing into your lap, pressing his whole body against yours, as if he’s trying to climb into your skin; you clutch his face in your hands, his hair tickling your beard as you hold on for dear life.

“Take this – inside?” he gasps out between presses of your lips together. You wrap your arms around his middle and stand, lifting him with you; he keens, a wild sound as he scrambles desperately at you, running his one hand over everything he can reach, and the two of you awkwardly shamble inside, bumping into the wall of his hut several times before eventually making your way through the doorway, fumbling through the entrance until you’re lying on top of him on his sleeping mat, his body warm and so alive beneath yours.

“Lube?” you ask; he reaches up to grab a small bottle from underneath his pillow, wordlessly handing it to you as you kiss him in thanks. You run your hands up and down the heated muscle of his thighs, pushing his shuka up around his waist as you ghost your hand over the hard bulge in his underwear; he writhes underneath you, making frustrated bitten-off noises as he tries to lift his hips up to meet yours. You grin against his lips as you close your hand around his cock and squeeze; he nearly screams, his hips bucking wildly. You press your body down onto his, grinding your cock against his thigh as you grope him through his boxers. He’s begging you now, half in English and half in Russian, with a handful of what you think might be nonsense words thrown in for good measure. You raise your hands to the waistband of his underwear and pause, lifting your head to look down at him questioningly. He nods, his hair fanning out around his head like a halo, looking every bit the debauched angel you know him to be. Without hesitating further, you yank his boxers off him, tossing them away as you kiss him with renewed fervor. He reaches up to you, his fingers curled in the hem of your shirt, and you help him pull it off you, followed by pushing down your own pants and boxers, kicking them off your legs until you’re naked, finally, pressing against him, his shuka tangled around his waist now, his chest bare, your nipples sliding against his. Finally, finally, you slide your hand over his cock, rubbing your thumb over the head as you use your other hand to pop the cap on the bottle of lube, thoroughly wetting your fingers as you glide them just over his hole, holding him in place with your body as he tries his best to get your fingers inside him. You stroke his cock firmly as you tease over his hole with your other hand, and the punched-out sound he makes will be burned into your memory forever. Your own cock is slick with pre-come as you struggle not to rut against his leg; you bite his lip to keep yourself from losing it completely in that moment. 

Eventually, you can’t hold out much longer. You press the tip of your index finger against his warm hole, slowly sliding it inside. It’s a tight fit; he clearly hasn’t been fucked in a while, and you take pleasure in the jealous satisfaction you feel upon realizing that he waited for you. He moans around your kisses, loud and unrestrained; you lick into his mouth, claiming him as your own as you fuck your finger in and out of him. You wait to add a second finger until he’s literally shaking, his thighs flexing around your hand, his own arm wrapped tightly around you. The third follows, maybe a little too soon, but you’re losing patience and he doesn’t complain, working himself eagerly down onto your hand, tossing his head back with abandon as you suck marks into his neck that will probably fade within the hour but you don’t care, you can see them now, you’ll both know they were there, and that’s enough for you.

Finally, when you think you might die right here from the pleasure and agony of waiting, he grips your wrist in his. “Steve,” he whispers. “’M ready. Please.” It’s all you need to hear; you carefully ease your fingers out of him, lube up your cock, and line it up against him. He takes a shuddering breath as you ease the head against his ass, eyes fluttering closed. Slowly, slowly, you push against his hole until it gives way, sliding your cock in inch by inch, his ass dragging against your dick with just the right amount of friction. His breathing is a little shaky now; your cock isn’t the smallest, especially with the serum, and you remember it’s been a while for him. You pause, giving him a questioning look. He breathes for a moment, then looks you in the eyes and nods, once; you bend down to kiss him slowly, softly, tangling your hand in his hair as you push in again, until you’re fully seated inside him. You smile against his mouth, the two of you breathing together for a moment, completely still, until he makes a small sound, a clear ‘get on with it’. Gently, you begin to move your hips. It’s almost painfully slow, but it’s worth the pure feeling it gives you, worth the way his hand scrambles to the back of your neck, worth the way he presses his forehead to yours and smiles full and bright as you push in and out of him. You close your eyes and focus on this, just this, with the sunlight streaming in the window of his room, his bare skin warm against yours, his steady, even breathing, the sounds of your bodies moving together. 

It doesn’t last forever. All too soon, your hips are stuttering, moving faster than you mean to, and he urges you on, clenching around you, rolling his hips up into you encouragingly, until you come with a gasp and a moan of his name, “Bucky,” and he kisses you, fierce and sloppy, and you get your hand on his dick and stroke until he follows you over the edge, and you feel everything, everything, everything, and he’s right there with you. The two of you lie there for a while, lazily letting your mixed come dry on his skin and bedsheets, trading open-mouthed kisses, and you stroke his hair as he drifts off to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> hope you enjoyed! :)


End file.
